


The Five Stages of Drunkenness

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunk!Clarke, F/M, Fluff, it's just nauseatingly fluffy tbh, mentions of dogs and piggybacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 17:02:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6203551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy decides that if he ever has to get a crush on someone else, he hopes that the person will not be as bad for his blood pressure as Clarke is.</p><p>or</p><p>the one where Clarke gets drunk and Bellamy is totally endeared by it</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Five Stages of Drunkenness

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I decide to take prompts for 500 word drabbles on tumblr. They don't end up 500 words and they don't stay on tumblr. I'm a mess.

Clarke Griffin does not get drunk easily, but when it happens, Bellamy, as her best friend and roommate, is required to keep all different kinds of drunk Clarke on a veritable leash at all times. Normally he might kick up a fuss at having to babysit someone, but it’s Clarke and he’s so far gone on this girl that he wonders if there’s anything at this point that he _wouldn’t_ do for her.

(It’s gotten to the point where Octavia has stopped teasing him about it and has just started giving him pitying looks every time he does something like put his arm around her, or when Clarke presses herself to his side in order to leach off his warmth. Bellamy likes to ignore her.)

But, having to keep an eye out on her means that he has a front row seat to the shitshow that is the five stages of drunkenness starring the one and only Clarke Griffin, and, frankly, that’s something Bellamy never thought he would enjoy until he witnessed it firsthand.

The first stage is the one where she tries to convince everyone that she’s not drunk which. Honestly it would work a lot better if he hadn’t seen her take at least five shots and then downed like half his beer. And that was only during the first hour. Meanwhile Bellamy is on his first true beer- he’s neglecting the one from which she stole half of- and is watching her with increasing amusement trying to tie her shoelaces while they sit at the bar.

‘Having fun there, Princess?’ he asks, looking at her at her clumsily crossing the laces over each other. She seems to have lost any fine motor skills at the moment.

‘Just peachy,’ she snaps, grunting in frustration as they still refuse to tie together even though all she’s done is twist them together.

‘Great,’ he says, ducking his head to hide her grin. She’s cute, with her face all screwed up and tongue poking out and- he hurriedly takes a swig of his beer, choking a little. ‘Want some help?’

‘ _No_ ,’ she growls, viciously tugging on each lace. ‘It’s a matter of honour, Bellamy.’

He snorts and gestures to the bartender to bring over a bottle of water. ‘Right. Honour.’ He takes the bottle and cracks the seal before sliding it over to her. ‘Here, drink this and then you can get right back to defending your honour.’

Clarke takes the bottle and squints at him. ‘I’m not drunk,’ she announces. ‘I don’t need you stupid water. Who buys water for a girl at a bar anyway? This is why you’re not getting laid nearly as much anymore.’ She pushes the water back at him.

‘Your concern about my sex life is touching,’ he says drily, ‘And you’re going to drink this. To cushion the impending hangover. Not because you’re drunk.’

She watches him warily for a moment and then, ‘If I drink it will you tie my laces?’

He bites back a grin because just a moment ago it was a matter of honour, but doesn’t say anything, instead patting his lap for her to swing her feet up on. Clarke makes a happy little sound in the back of her throat and places them in his lap, and he ties her laces while making sure she drinks at least half the bottle of water.

The water helps her regain her bearings, just a little bit, but it only lasts for about twenty minutes because then she’s sharing cosmos and whiskey sours with Octavia and Raven. This is the second stage, where she’s completely peppy and happy, dancing in the crowd while holding hands with his sister and Raven.

Octavia catches him staring at them with a sappy grin on his face she mimes throwing up. Bellamy flips her off in return, but does nothing to control his smile because he likes this. Likes seeing all of his friends happy, likes watching the expression on Miller’s face when Clarke pulls him forward to dance with them, likes the way they’re all smiling and seemingly carefree if just for a moment.

Eventually Clarke notices that it’s just him by their table and breaks away from the crowd. ‘Bellamy!’ she smiles, all teeth, ‘Come dance with us!’

He laughs a bit and shakes his head. ‘No thanks; I’m fine here, Princess.’

She sticks out her bottom lip comically and widens her eyes, biting back a pleased grin when he bursts out laughing. ‘Please?’

Heaving a sigh, he downs the last mouthful of beer he has remaining. Bellamy knows it’s only a matter of time before he gives into her so he just might as well. ‘If you insist.’

Her responding smile is blinding, and he lets her pull him out onto the dance floor with the rest of their friends. Thankfully at this point ‘dancing’ is just jumping up and down with some occasional fist pumping, so he has nothing to worry about. Much.

(He’s steadfastly ignoring the way Clarke sings along- usually with the wrong lyrics- because that is. Bellamy really does not need that right now.)

She dances with him for only half an hour or so before breaking away to get something to drink. Bellamy watches her, pulling her hair up into a sloppy ponytail to get it off her neck as she goes.

After five minutes have passed and she still hasn’t returned, he excuses himself from the group and makes his way to the bar in order to find his missing roommate. When he finally does find her, she’s at the next end of the bar, quite possibly yelling at some burly asshole. He assumes she’s yelling that is; there’s a lot of finger jabbing and angry expressions and he tries to get over there as quick as he could because stage three is Clarke ‘I will fight anything and everything’ Griffin.

(He vividly remembers her breaking the nose of some frat boy when they were in college. He found it both incredibly hot and incredibly terrifying.)

It turns out the man was harassing the girl standing behind Clarke, and Clarke took it upon herself to sweep in and rescue her by yelling at the man for being ‘a despicable rusty fuckbucket of a human’ and ‘a ignorant chauvinistic pissbaby’ just to name some his favourite insults that she threw out this time around.

‘If she says no, you back off, asshole,’ she snaps at him, taking a step closer and Bellamy has to pull her back by the rest before she does anything stupid. Like punch the guy and start a bar fight. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done something like that. ‘No means no.’

Catching her wrist, Bellamy hurriedly ducks his head and mutters to her, ‘Alright Princess, I think he understands.’

She breaks out of his grasp and glares at him briefly before turning her attention back to the man. ‘He better. If I catch him doing this again then I’ll kick him in the crotch so hard that he’ll choke on his own dick.’

Bellamy swipes a hand across his face, groaning a little. ‘Okay, time for us to leave. Say bye to your new friends.’

Thankfully, he manages to help diffuse the situation without anyone getting punched- there’s usually a forty percent chance that he gets punched first when he intervenes in these situations- and sends Clarke back to their table while making sure the girl is okay.

Bellamy also decides that if he ever has to get a crush on someone else, he hopes that the person will not be as bad for his blood pressure as Clarke is, because really. At this rate he’s probably going to get a heart attack by the time he turns forty.

When he makes his way back to their table, she all but throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that’s damn near suffocating.

‘You’re my favourite,’ she mutters against his neck, and so starts stage four. Overly affectionate Clarke. It’s also the stage that indicates it’s time for them to start getting ready to go home because the length of this stage is indeterminate. Sometimes it lasts for hours and sometimes it lasts for all of twenty minutes before the fifth stage kicks in where she pretty much just passes out on any flat surface after telling him that they need to save the puppies.

(The house down the street from their complex has roughly around six large German Shepherds cooped up in a relatively small fenced yard and Clarke always complains about their mistreatment whenever she sees it. It would be adorable except one time when she was drunk, she tried to rescue them herself and Bellamy had to remind her that climbing a stranger’s fence at two in the morning to land in a yard of dogs which are nearly her size, would be a very bad idea, not to mention illegal.)

He swings and arm around waist and presses his nose in her hair for just a moment. ‘So are you,’ he replies before pulling back. Clarke makes a small noise of frustration and he soothes her by brushing his hand over her hair. ‘Ready to go home?’ he asks and lets her burrow into his side. He feels her nod rather than see it and the two of them make quick work of telling their remaining friends goodbye, with him steadfastly ignoring Octavia’s piercing gaze.

Outside is cold, and Clarke further presses herself against him, mewling in displeasure.

‘I don’t want to walk,’ she whines as they set off on the journey home. The apartment is just two blocks away so it usually takes them about twenty minutes to half an hour to get there depending on their levels of drunkenness. ‘ _Bellamy_ ,’ she says again, tugging on his hand to get him to stop.

When he turns around, Clarke is staring at him with big eyes and with an expression he knows far too well. He groans in response.

‘Come on, it’s not that cold.’

‘But my feet hurt,’ she wheedles

‘I told you to wear your sneakers with the arch support, it’s your own damn fault for not listening,’ he gripes.

‘Yeah, but I had to do it for the _aesthetic_. I can’t be a proper aesthetic with old lady shoes.’

Bellamy snorts, and rolls his eyes even as he turns around and stoops for her to climb onto his back. ‘You’re a fucking disaster, Griffin,’ he tells her while she clambers onto his back.

Her skin is warm against his palm and she presses her torso flush against his back. ‘You’re the best,’ she says before nuzzling the back of his head.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he grumbles, pinching the soft skin of her thigh. ‘You better not fall asleep, or else I’m leaving you on the stairs.’

They keep up a mindless wave of chatter as Bellamy walks them towards the apartment. It’s things like this that make it so easy for him to be in love with her. Like the way she clings on to his back, arms wrapped tight around him as if she’s afraid he’ll let her go, the way she meets him for each snappy comeback he has, even though she’s drunk and halfway coherent, the way she sometimes just sighs and cuddles closer for warmth when the wind blows.

When they pass the house with the dogs, she goes strangely quiet and he tightens his grip on the back of her thighs. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of another way to kidnap them and set them free,’ he says, and he can feel her laugh rumble through his back.

‘It’s just sad you know,’ she says quietly, ‘They shouldn’t be treated like this.’

‘I know, Princess,’ he replies, giving her a gentle squeeze in response.

Clarke sighs, slumping against his back. ‘They’re my favourite,’ she tells him and Bellamy has to crack a smile.

‘I thought I was your favourite,’ he jokes as he turns onto their street.

She’s quiet behind for a long moment and he hitches her higher, jostling her a little bit as he says, ‘Hey, you better not be asleep. I cannot carry you up three flights of stairs, Clarke.’

‘I’m not,’ she replies, and her voice is different somehow, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what changed.

And then she presses further into him, resting her head on his shoulder, sighing. ‘You are my favourite. You’re my favourite person, Bellamy. The most favourite,’ she tells him, her voice as serious as ever, ringing out loud and true in the still air of the night.

It lies there heavy between them for a second and he can interpret it a million different ways, chalk it up to her being drunk, but there’s something in her voice that tells him that she knows exactly what she’s saying, and it sends a thrill through him, settling warm and soft in his veins as his heart picks up.

And of course, if that wasn’t enough to convince him of the true meaning of her words, Clarke kisses him, gentle and chaste, almost hesitantly behind his ear, and he almost walks them into a lamp post.

He sets her down once they’re in front the apartment complex and she’s watching him, face raw and open and his heart squeezes in his chest. Ever so slowly, Bellamy cups her face, stroking her cheek and she leans into his palm. He presses a soft kiss, quick and dry to her forehead before he pulls away and says, ‘You’re my favourite person too, okay?’

Clarke’s responding grin could quite possibly light up the sky and this time he does stumble into the door frame.

She wedges herself underneath his arm as they walk up the stairs together, and Bellamy thinks that he’s never been this content before in his life. When they’re finally inside the apartment, Clarke immediately kicks off her shoes and flings herself down on the couch. Bellamy disappears into the kitchen for a moment before reappearing with two glasses of water.

He passes one over to her and says wryly, ‘Drink it so you actually remember tonight when you wake up in the morning,’ and she makes a face, but does as she’s told anyway.

(He’s pretty sure she doesn’t her the underlying ‘I hope you remember this in the morning’ in his sentence.)

She pecks him again on the cheek before she retires to her room and the next morning Bellamy freaks out a little bit over their revelations to each other before getting out of bed to make pancakes. Clarke loves pancakes when she’s hungover.

She wakes up when he’s almost finished, all squinty eyes and bedraggled, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt he’s fairly certain was his at one point in time, and his heart swells, even as she clambers on top the counter to sit cross legged.

When he sets down a plate next to her, she catches his hand and tugs him until he’s standing in the vee of her legs, his free arm braced next to her hip.

‘I told you; you’re my favourite,’ she says softly, tangling her fingers in his while tracing the planes of his face. She leans forward and kisses him softly, just a brief press of her lips against his, but it leaves him breathless nonetheless.

Bellamy smiles at her, soft and sure, squeezing her hand. ‘And so are you,’ he replies, before ducking his head to kiss her properly, and if he can’t stop smiling like an idiot for the rest of the day, it’s just because Clarke Griffin considers him to be her favourite.

**Author's Note:**

> Fell free to join me in [my trashcan](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/) at any time. I like yelling about fictional characters with strangers over the internet. This is exactly where I want to be in life.


End file.
